


Sense and Salarian Ability

by PotatoInaHoodie



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Adoption, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mass Effect 1, Original Mass Effect characters, Other, Pregame Mass Effect, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoInaHoodie/pseuds/PotatoInaHoodie
Summary: In the year 2175, humans have been a council species for ten years and quickly become a main stay in Citadel holdings.  Salarian art dealer, Ropon Lau, is currently having an infestation with the species left overs. A human duct rat currently haunts not only his work space, but his mental space as well. And it's getting old fast.When the human girl shows a great promise as an artist, Lau will take a great interest in her development. As the two grow alongside each other as people, hopefully they can grow to be more than protégé and mentor to each other. And maybe this human child can help lift the weight of half a lifetime of regret of the salarian's shoulders...
Relationships: Asexual Relationship - Relationship, Asexual Romance - Relationship, Old Hurt - Relationship, Original Female Character(s)/Original Salarian Character(s), Original Human Character(s)/Original Turian Character(s), Original Human character/original salarian character
Comments: 21
Kudos: 17





	1. Phase 1: Eyes of a Duct Rat

That small gaunt face was like a haunting from the lonesome dead. It echoed on his display window often enough, translucent. It would bounce from window to mirror to mirror- the image getting all the more faint and cursed the further it bounced into the establishment. Dirty clothes, filthy fingernails, with limp black hair that only made that colorless human skin all the more pale. Lau had chased her off before- throwing small cleaning rags at the child or yelling at her from an open door, but the duct rat continued to return and permeate the foul taste of guilt and privilege to both his clientele and contributors. The creature hurt business. His was a place of class and cultural significance. She only smudged it’s elegance with her left over breath.

It was the child’s eyes that struck the divining rod in Lau’s soul with an unforgivable chill. Large, crystalline, and so void of any thought, that there had been moments in her brief presence that made the salarian dealer wonder if those orb’s haunted his soul’s memory from another life, the wheel finally taking it’s vengeance for a misdeed done to a sister or Dalatrass. Had she been someone before that he had known? On those nights where Lau actually needed sleep-those eyes resonated in his dreams like the girls face did in the window. 

  
And here she was again, with her dead eyes trained on the sculptures within the exhibition hall. Only this time she was joined by other street mongrels, all inching towards the entrance door. At least her friends’ eyes had comprehensible intention. Human eyes were so unsettling, so alien and unreadable. His skin crawled as he tried not to be drawn into looking at her. 

“Hey, mister!” the turian boy called from the door, standing in front of his two friends with the same arrogance as a Primarch. Lau sighed bitterly. He tried to ignore the boy. But like all turians, he persisted through adversity. “Do you have any work we can do? We’re hard workers, sir!”

“No. I don’t.” Anything to get the urchins to leave him alone. Anything to make her eyes go away. “Now beat it.” One had to be quick and to the point with duct rats. Without parents or without supervision, they clung to one territorial spot in a ward to cause trouble or beg from others. The girls behind the lad shuffled their feet and exchanged glances. It struck Lau as odd that the asari girl, probably an even thirty to the other children’s ten, stood behind the turian child instead of in front.

Eramanthe took his shoulder in hand and smiled. She was a regular contributor here, her work often selling faster than she could make it. And she had a bleeding heart. “Ropon Lau,” her voice was like heavy wooden wind chimes on a breezy day-that firm and elegant sound, “I’m sure that there’s plenty of work in the back studio for these fine young entrepreneurs to do. It’s plenty dirty back there.” The asari matron winked at the children in the doorway, summoning them closer with an ethereal lavender hand. The children ran to her before Lau could stop them. He glared at her over the tops of their varied heads, shaking his furiously. 

“Era, no. I refuse to let them back there. There’s too much they could break!”

“It smells like clay dust and there are metal shavings all over the floor, Lau.” Her eyes glittered mischievously. Lau crossed his arms across the hollow of his chest, determined to stay firm on this. If Sapient Resources caught wind of what she was asking of him, they would crucify him to a wall and feed his entrails to a krogan. He suppressed a shudder just thinking about it.

“Lau.” Eramanthe pushed, cocking a brow. The woman was nigh impossible to say no to and she knew it. Her work had won the gallery notoriety and it continued to keep the lights on. The five went to the back room. Eramanthe smiled gratefully towards her friend.

“I hate you.” Lau uttered.  


Lau had, shortly after opening the art gallery, created this room for artists to convene and work in. Those who could rent the place out for a day or those with exceptional talent but had no place to work would come here with a hunger to create. When the lights went on, monoliths of stone and of steel welcomed the three children with hands raised skyward. Contorted figures danced, half formed and grotesque. “… _Freaky_ …” the asari girl whispered, shrugging up one of her overall straps. In another part of the workshop, behind a wall and away from the dust, paintings in varying stages of completion sat on easels, colors reaching beyond the spectrum some species could even see. Beyond Lau’s attention, Eramanthe looked to the children, asking if they thought they could manage the work.

The turian rolled up his sleeves, grabbing a dust covered broom and nodded encouragingly towards his friends. “Count on us!” He quickly gave directions to his partners and got to work. Of course, SHE managed to get the job of cleaning the windows and mirrors. Those empty eyes-

“Was that so bad, hard ass?” Eramanthe took a seat on the table top that Lau was currently leaning back on, the dust clinging carelessly to her skirt and palms. Lau sighed irritably, crossing his arms and leaning further into the table, causing Eramanthe to lose balance briefly as it scrapped backwards across the floor. “They’re already doing such a good job.” Eramanthe scowled at him, burning through Lau’s skull for a brief, suspicious moment.

“I don’t like kids.” He said honestly, watching the duct rats with the precision and the subtle intensity of a jungle beast on Sur’Kesh. Lau didn’t even associate with his dozen’s of nephews and nieces regularly. Too loud, too needy, too many, and too much. When around them, during family get-togethers, he stuck to the adults as much as he possibly could. Only taking part in their antics when they showed potential in the family business…and that was more out of necessity than anything. “I like duct rats even less. What if they steal something? Or ruin a piece? Nothing here is cheap. Some of it irreplaceable!” Lau’s hand tightened around his shirt fabric, knuckles trembling.

By the tiny, unkempt, knife like nails on all the children’s hands, Lau felt threatened in the most primal of ways. This backroom was more precious than the rest of the gallery. Treasures lay here, the freedom his hands had fumbled with resided back here with its abundant resources. To give this room to even the potential of a risk made his chest ache with unimaginable anxiety. That these children had been hustled inside against his will felt like raw skin. The flutter of his already fast paced heart made him want to vomit. “If its tools you’re worried about, if anything happens- I’ll pay for replacements. Besides, these babies have honest faces.” Eramanthe encouraged. But that wasn’t the point. 

With a flick of Lau’s brown eyes, his heart leapt up into his chest and fell back into his stomach with a magnificent thud. The human child had followed the glass dutifully, finding her way to a secluded corner of the workshop. Her small fingers ghosted curiously over Lau’s own work. It had sat there for months, unfinished, uninspired, but no less dear to the curator. “Get away from that!” Before Lau knew it, he was across the room with the girl’s wrist gripped firmly within his hand. By salarian habit, in moments he had taken in the many details of her small frame. In equal measure, the girl gazed at Lau- seeing nearly every bone underneath his thick amphibian skin. “Don’t. Touch. The artwork.”

Her fingers curled back into her palm, tendons flexing underneath her skin, the girl’s eyes never leaving his. “Sorry.” To her credit, the duct rat human didn’t quake in his grasp. She didn’t fight to peel herself from his fingers. The human child was as still as the statues she was surrounded by.

“Lau!” Eramanthe crossed her arms disapprovingly, manicured nails tapping against her arm. The Asari child held back her turian friend from charging. All eyes in the room were on Lau and were suffocating. He released the girl to check his work for imperceptible cracks. Had she pushed too hard on any one piece? The girl’s friends ran to her side, pulling her back from the much taller man and putting a decent distance between them. “Come get a coffee in the lobby with me, Lau. You need to cool off.” The asari matron demanded, hopping off the table to elegantly brush the dust off her bum.

Like a scolded varren on a leash, Eramanthe led Lau away from the children and into the adjacent room. The empty hall echoed back their footsteps. The marbled stone walls were polished to a perfect shine, as were the floors. Looking down at the floor, Lau watched several clones of himself follow in step with Eramanthe. She stopped in front of the coffee table. Turned on the machine. Gave a cool side eye over her shoulder. Judged him. Lau didn’t meet her eyes, but sneered at the floor. She couldn’t make him regret doing what he’d done. The kid needed to be told not to touch things. He hadn’t done anything wrong. 

The sound of the coffee starting to percolate filled the silence between the two adults. The gentle, almost purring sound massaged the nerves inside his skull. The artificial lighting of the ward filtered through the windows, coloring the walls and floors a cool blue. It ghosted across his brown skin, almost like a gauze veil. “You have a problem with humans, Lau?” Eramanthe poured out the brown liquid into two mugs and fixed them up to each of their likings. She handed him the smooth white cup.

“What? No! I’m not a racist, Era.” He set the cup back down on the counter.

“Mm, Species-ist.” Eramanthe took a small sip of her drink. “It’s okay if you are-Well, actually, not okay. But you wouldn’t be the first to not like them.”

“No, Era. I just don’t like kids! I told you that!”

Eramanthe cocked a brow and waited for him to continue. When he did not, she filled the quiet. “Sure. I get that. But you’ve paid a mean kind of attention to her since those three walked in here. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” With asari grace, her stare leveled him. Cutting to his core, her green eyes searched for answers. “ _Do_ you have a problem with humans?”

That she found the need to reiterate herself was insulting. For the five years she had known him, there was still a shadow of a doubt that he could be a racist? All because of that kid with the pale eyes. It was like someone had drained nearly all the paint out of them but left only a smattering of blue. They were too familiar, but for once Lau couldn’t put his finger on from where. With the way those eyes disturbed him; maybe he didn’t want to know. 

“No.” Lau straightened his back, drawing himself to his full height. He was taller than Eramanthe by a few inches, the asari only coming up to his shoulders. Eramanthe placed a hand on her hip, nodding and smiling. Satisfied. 

“Breathe, then.” Like the tide going out to sea, Eramanthe’s hands moved out toward the open air. The tension dissipated, leaving Lau with a bitter ringing in his ears. Give him five minutes, he’d be fine. But for now, the way Eramanthe had sloughed off the interrogation vexed him. “You’re such a serious little frog, my friend. You were too intense back there! You should have just asked her not to touch your doodad. No need to yell and grab her.”

“I guess.” Lau rubbed his arm, conceding with a deep breath. The kid should know by now, but…  


Eramanthe finished off her coffee, and looked at Lau’s mug. It remained untouched. She took time to consider the space that the two inhabited and fiddled with her fingers. Another quiet moment passed between them as the two stood in close proximity, caressed by the blue light of the Tayseri Ward. She wrapped her arms around Lau’s spindly waist and rested her head on the rim of his upper chest. “I’m sorry.” Eramanthe’s gaze was directed at the floor, her brows knit together by thought. “I was overly pushy with you again, wasn’t I?”

Lau grunted half heartedly, returning Eramanthe’s hug with a friendly and accepting pat to her back. “Its fine, Era. Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t as if this was unusual behavior for Eramanthe. Lau knew enough of her to expect little else-she was an overly enthusiastic woman, and an asari besides. Where else could he expect her to put her energy towards? It was in the species nature.

Breaking the silence of the lobby was a loud shattering sound from the back room and the two adults eyes widened as they looked at each other in horror! Their feet stumbled over the smooth paneling of the floor as they ran towards the sound, fearing the break they were about to see-the news they’d have to bring to a creator. Lau and Eramanthe’s head pivoted as far as their bodies would allow as they surveyed the statues on the working floor. Nothing appeared overturned or broken, but the children were nowhere to be seen. Lau moved quickly through the maze of half finished forms, eyes taking in the unperceivable with a speed that rivaled lightning. 

His heart sank into his gut for the second time that day and his head snapped with dizzying speed towards the darkened corner he called his own. Eramanthe slapped her hands over her mouth, looking towards the salarian with watering eyes. Lau’s hand grazed across an empty podium, tiny shards of clay scattered across the floor. The larger pieces, however, were missing. The human child had broken it.   


And then she’d stolen it.


	2. Prodigal Prodigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duct rat returns and Lau is left conflicted

After filing the paperwork for theft with C-sec, a week passed with no discernible action. Walking through the ward, to and from work, Lau would scan the mob of people for familiar faces. At times, he’d imagine he’d seen her, weaving through a crowd of much taller adults or disappearing into a vent. But when he’d turn to confirm the vision, she was gone with the steam and smoke of the vendors. A wisp of air passing through nothingness. Lau shouldn’t have cared enough to still hunt for her. Despite the vulnerable feeling of being robbed, had he actually lost anything of value? It was a hunk of dried dirt that had escaped his grasp to make into anything. Yet he dreamed of it, vividly; the mediocre and stale curves that had taken him too long to piece together into a feeble attempt of replicating waves on the sea. Lau had hated even looking at it. He asked himself why he still looked for its shards. He should be over this by now. A better salarian would have put the ordeal behind him. A better salarian would have given up on ineptitude and worked toward something more attainable. A respectable salarian would have…should have…

Lau’s fingers tightened around the handle of his mug. He only half listened as his sister nattered on over the vid-com about one thing or another, adding only small confirmatory remarks if she asked for his input. In front of him, on the table, several holo pads held shipping manifestos, bills, and requests from eager artists wishing to be displayed and sold in his gallery. None of it caught his interest, but he flipped through the paperwork to appear busy while in front of Nalano. She continued her tirade of a chore list to him and Lau turned his head toward the window, watching the blurred, colored lights of traffic whizz pass. “You’re going to be here, right Lau? Appearance is everything at events like this.”

“Yes, Ano. I’ve already made the arrangements.” Lau took a drink of his tea, overlooking an artist’s plea for validation. Being a turian upstart didn’t hurt, with the scarcity of the species style outside of turian space. Lau made a note to email the artist about further examples of his work.

“Good. Zejaa will have you entertain some of our business partners. I expect you to be busy currying favors.” Since their mother had died a few years back, Lau’s boss of a sister had taken charge of their branch of the family. Wielding her feminine power with an iron will and steel forged words, she had further built their branch’s influence in clan politics. Now that their cousin was formally becoming the clan’s Dalatrass, Nalano’s power would grow tenfold. The two had been as thick as the dense jungle trees that wove around one another since childhood.

“-as is custom, I know.” Lau droned. “Relax Ano, things will go off without a hitch on my end.”

Nalano smiled and Lau got the feeling that if she could pet his cheek, as their mother had done when she was pleased, Nalano would have done so. “Dependable Lau. You never make trouble for me. Azik may not be able to come at all because of his partner and I still need to find a back up babyitter.” She paused for a moment with a cleansing breath. “ I’ll speak further with you another time.” Nalano hung up, leaving Lau in the abrupt silence of his dark apartment. He closed the holo-pads and stowed them in his work satchel. Standing up, he moved into the kitchen to replenish his tea, robotically.

_Dependable Lau._

He decided against more tea.

Looking at the clock, Lau grabbed his satchel and gazed into the hall mirror. Clean faced, suit nearly without flaw, Lau flattened his collar with a flare of gravitas and feigned importance. He stared into his own eyes, avoiding the dark uniformity in his peripheral vision. Today was a new circle. Lau locked the front door behind him. It was a brisk, cool, walk to the Nasurn Gallery, consisting of fifteen, maybe thirty minutes on a bad day. Lau’s focus remained on the crowds and the pavement, intent on not looking for the ghost of the duct rat that he’d never see again. It felt good to stretch his shoulders and his legs this morning.

When he walked through the back door, Lau was greeted by a hellish heat and the rhythmic and scattered ringing sound of a hammer meeting steel. Behind the wall ahead, Eramanthe cursed loudly as the ringing ceased once again. The salarian rolled his eyes as he flipped on the ceiling venting system. She always forgot about the fans on her work days. Lau wondered if she’d been born on an arid world far off in Asari Space. Walking up behind her, he could almost see it. As a young girl, she would be a sun burnt baby-building sand castles in a desert long after she should have gone inside to her mother. She could have been a chubby little thing, running with wild abandon just to feel the sand rush in between her toes. Maybe her family went on beach trips to escape the heat by way of a breeze coming off the water. The intense temperatures hardly seemed to bother the woman.

The work shop was empty today, with the other sculptures pushed far into the walls in order to give the asari room to work. The forge burned with a blinding yellow, illuminating the massive metal behemoth beside it that had stolen Eramanthe’s sleep for weeks now. She twisted the arms of the galactic community together and in the center of their outreaching palms, Eramanthe planned to plant a miniature of the Citadel. The theme was a little predictable for Lau’s taste, but her results were worth a bit of cliché. With metal and her biotics, Eramanthe’s figures felt like they could move and breathe on their own. They had the soft bend of skin and muscle that caressed the viewer’s attention. Of life’s soft and tender emotions, Eramanthe caste them in metal and polished them to a mirror shine.

Her sculpture still lacked a hand or two, missing the drell, turians, and vorcha. Why Eramanthe insisted on putting the vorcha in there was beyond Lau. It wasn’t as if they added anything to galactic culture. On the work bench laid the disembodied hand of the turians. “I like what you’re doing with the seams there, Era. But this looks a little aggressive compared to the others.” Lau quipped, looking at the hand from over her shoulder. She nursed a small burn on the outside of her thumb and groaned in miserable agreement.

“I think some of real life is bleeding into the piece.” Eramanthe collapsed into a nearby chair with her eyes closed and head tilted back. “Maybe I just need to…step back for a while.”

Lau moved closer to the metal hand. The iconic turian talons were uncut and vicious looking, unlike most of Eramanthe’s works in which they were trimmed with a rounded edge. The hand was flexed as if it were a predator that was about to strike. “Fighting with Cassias?” Lau mused, watching as Eramanthe ground her palms into her temples.

“I think we’re going to break up, Lau. He’s just…so….so-” Her hands flexed and clawed at the air, veins popping from the skin.

Lau inched away from Eramanthe’s rage. “Uncompromising?”

The asari sunk lower into the chair, crossing her arms and legs with sharp angry movements. “He’s too conforming. Too restrictive! Imagine what he’d do to our girls with that kind of attitude! He’d ruin them!”

“If he lived long enough, that is.” Lau said to himself. Eramanthe shot daggers at him from her seat; her entire face looking like she’d tasted something sour. “Hey-look at me.” the curator defended, jabbing a finger into his abdominal hood. “ _I_ get to make that joke! Besides, Cassias isn’t a young man anyway. You can do better, age wise.” Lau retracted said finger as Eramanthe transferred her glare from him to the ceiling. He scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes back to the metal hand on the table. Quietly, he said “The hand should be salvageable. You only need to loosen the fingers and cut down on the talons. It should be fine.”

“I want babies, Lau. I want them real bad.” She rocked back and forth on the chairs legs.

Lau briefly ran his hand across the metal arm on the table, feeling its heat slowly ebbing out into his palm. He turned to face her, “I mean, you can get kids without keeping the father around. Isn’t that what you asari do?” Lau snickered as Eramanthe threw her balled up sweat rag at his head. It was a bull’s-eye mark, hitting Lau square in between his horns.

“Been digging up cultural weaknesses to report back to your Union, salarian?” Eramanthe grinned toothily; brows narrowed. “Or is it just for a busy-body Dalatrass?” The two smiled at one another from their opposing sides of the room, Eramanthe’s eyes a bit brighter than they were a minute ago. She was prettier when she smiled. Lau found that glowering only made Eramanthe’s particularly round face look like a withering gourd, melting and squashing into unintelligible shapes. Yet, the way she held herself was still slumped over. She hugged herself, hands wrapped around her elbows and a clouded faraway look in her eye.

Lau placed a hand on her shoulder and returned the sweat rag to her expecting hand. “Personally, I don’t see the draw.” He said, “But you’re determined enough, Era. You’ll be putting aside all your passions and career to raise a brood of crass girls in no time.” Era shook her head, ignoring the salarian’s distaste of the idea.

The tinkling of the bell above the door in the parlor rang and the two shared a glance. The sound of the bell was more of a whisper; like a shameful, slow outcry that begged not to be heard and hoped to go unnoticed. Though not unheard of, it was rare for patrons or guests to come to the gallery before noon. When Lau didn’t hear the sound of the door closing behind the bell, the pores of his skin tightened around the base of his bulbous skull. His feet led him cautiously to the front room, with a straight back and stern countenance. There he saw, mirrored in the glassy flooring, two very unwelcome duct rats. They stared wide eyed at him, crouching over some foreign object on the floor. One held the door slightly ajar, just enough to slip back through without sounding the bell once again. Letting out a small growl, Lau lurched toward the girls. He wrenched the door from the asari’s hand and slammed it shut before the two could escape his grasp once again. A sickly, burning anger broiled in his belly. “You two” Lau spat “are in very big trouble!”

The human girl with the pale eyes started fidgeting spasmastically, her hands flying around her face and chest while her mouth opened and closed like a fish left out in the sun. She constantly looked back at her companion, who quaked in fear as she tried to pry the door open. The human’s hands clawed toward Lau in a beseeching manner. Her mind was slower than an elcor’s walk in the garden, it would seem, as her mouth had nothing to say but the smacking of a dry tongue. Lau watched her in disgust. The little pest who had been a blight upon him for too long did not measure up to the scheming, malicious whelp that he had pictured; but rather was a simpleton with less to offer of herself than a vorcha mercenary.

“N-no.” the human sputtered out, finally clutching and pulling at her shirt as if something were missing in her pockets. “No. I’m sorry…uh-uh-uh. Vey…” the sounds were strangled in her throat before she could get them out.

Eramanthe came into the room, looking at the two children and then meeting the fire in Lau’s eyes with the surprise inside her own. “Lock these two down, Era. I’m getting C-sec down here.” Lau ordered. He leaned his weight against the door to keep the two in and pulled up his omni-tool. The human child looked as if she were about to cry, her breathing shallow and fast.

“Wait, old man!” begged the young asari, beginning to wrestle Lau’s arm away from the fingers that threatened her freedom. “She just came to say sorry. That’s all! Don’t call the blues!”

“Lau” Era interjected slowly, gliding across the floor.

“What are you waiting for, Era? Use your biotics on these degenerates already!” the salarian ordered.

While Lau fought against the younger asari, Eramanthe’s attention was trained on the human. The girl bit at her lip and looked as if she were chastising herself, her gaze intent on trying to tell the salarian anything. When the human grasped at the small object on the floor, Eramanthe’s mouth slid up into a small smile, “Lau, hang on a sec.” With quiet panic, the human girl carefully shoved a piece of board into Lau’s chest. The girls stumbled back as he let go of the asari child, steadying each other.

It was his worthless piece Lau realized, looking at the clay turning and swirling upward from the board. It had been patched back together with cheap craft clay, nary a crack showing…despite the differing shade of color of the clay he’d used and what she’d used. There were juvenile fixes to curves and shapes that…actually worked. The edges had been softened where he had made sharp turns, not to a fantastic degree, but enough to make a difference. There were unfortunate blobs of dried glue in places-but there had been an attempt to hide them with similar clay blobs in varying places. They almost looked like bubbles-in an amateur sort of way.

Lau stared at it in silence. He refused to believe that a duct rat, with no form of education outside of anything but ducking the law, could have put together the pieces so intuitively. Despite everything, the salarian found himself impressed.

“Sorry I broke it.” The little human said, drawing the attention of the two adults once more. “I tried to fix it.” She toyed with one of her fingers, not making eye contact with anyone in the room.

Eramanthe pawed at the sculpture from around Lau’s arm. “You did a good job blurring the lines where the old material and new meet.” She drew her hand away, rubbing her fingers together. The brownish coloring had stained her skin-a sign of cheap mock clay. It smelled mostly of salt.

“You did this?” Lau sounded more like he was accusing her than asking. The girl nodded slowly, nervously. The asari child had started inching toward the now unattended door.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” Eramanthe squatted down to meet the duct rat’s eye level. She held out her hand warmly toward the girl. Lau looked at his friend as if she were crazy.

“Um…uh-Tegan” the human looked at Eramanthe’s offered hand as if she were offered credits and tentatively reached out-

Her hand was snatched out of the air by her companion, who whispered a firm “Come on.” before turning towards the adults with a tight, polite grimace. “Sorry, we gotta go now. We won’t bother you again.” She pulled the human girl with her, the two scurrying out the door before another word could be spoken. The human’s eyes caught in the glass window.

Lau passed the rest of the day in uneasy silence. The duct rat’s appearance rattled his core, as did the sudden appearance of his failed bobble-fixed and childishly improved. In a corner of his office, sitting on an aged couch, Eramanthe had resumed toying with the small sculpture after having called it a day on her own piece. He only found irritation in watching her curious twists and turns and Lau’s jaw tightened until it threatened to never move again. Lau found himself actively looking at his hand to avert his gaze from her-watching the tendons and muscles flow underneath his copper-toned skin as hands flew across his keyboard in feeble attempt of distraction. Answering these emails was always how he ended the day. But today, the hollow weight of routine threatened to crush Lau beneath it.

“You know what, Lau?” Eramanthe purred, finally setting the sculpture down in her lap. To Lau’s chagrin, she continued to pet at it absently. His head turned toward her like rusted machinery. “This is actually pretty promising now! It reminds me of some of some of your old college work that you’ve showed me-”

Lau pressed the palms of his hands to the desk, in a knee jerk reaction. “WHAT?” he hissed, “It looks absolutely nothing like my old works!”

“I mean energy wise, you angry little squit.” Eramanthe waved off his reaction. “Look at this, really I mean!” Reluctantly, Lau watched it from the corner of his eye. The form was a confusion of will and intention. It drew upon a ghost of a memory before Lau shoved it back down into the dark recesses of his mind. “There’s so much enthusiasm!” Eramanthe continued to cheer.

“It looks like its being pulled apart by different ideas of what it’s supposed to be.” Lau muttered darkly.

“Sure. But that shouldn’t bother you of all people. I mean, that kind of look helped you graduate, right?” Eramanthe’s shrug caused boulders to fall upon Lau’s spine. He stared intently at wood grain of his desk. She continued to speak but he chose to tune her out.

Pushing the chair back, Lau walked to Eramanthe and took up the sculpture, his fingers threatening to crack the wooden board. “It’s hardly even my work anymore. So it has nothing in common with what I used to do.” He opened up a cabinet, shoved the thing deep onto a shelf, and closed the door. The offensive object finally out of sight, Lau felt he could breathe again.

“Oh, squirt lube up your cloacae and loosen up, man.” Eramanthe crossed her arms and scowled. “The kid did good work.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Lau returned to his desk, resuming his evening work.

“I think she has potential worth nourishing!”

“She’s not an orphaned varren whelp, Era. Leave it be.”

When she comes back, we should see what else she can do!”

“ERA! STOP!” Lau shouted. Her enthusiasm was too much for Lau. He collapsed back onto his chair, resting his head on the cool wood of his desk. Eramanthe was on her feet, glaring daggers at him. “Just…please.” the salarian took a deep breath, trying to clear the tight muscles in his head. “Yes. Admirable though it is that she came back, it doesn’t change what happened. Now I’d appreciate it if you let this finally drop. Period!”

The quiet between the two hung stagnant in the air. Suffocating. Claustrophobic. The unrelenting automated clicking sounds of Lau’s haptic keypad signaled that the salarian was done talking. Eramanthe scowled as she stood, readjusting her clothes. “Okay, Lau.” She padded towards the door, her boots hanging from her shoulder on laces tied together. “I’m going home. You should too. Sleep off that attitude, maybe.”

Alone again. Lau hung his head in his hands, clicking off from his emails. What a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear LiaSays,
> 
> Thank you so much for bookmarking my story! It tickles me that you want to come back.
> 
> I apologize for taking so long to post the chapter. Taking three months to finish it certainly wasn't my intent. I blame my indecisiveness. I rewrote this thing three times before I went back and finished the first draft. So much time wasted. At least I have a better idea for chapter three, so hopefully it shouldn't take as long to write and get that out.
> 
> I hope you're safe and sane with all the covid-craziness going on in the world right now. See you in chapter 3!


	3. In the Recesses

The house was a last testament to a time it had well outlived. The thing creaked and groaned at all times, as though fighting to stand against a wind that never came; the breath it never had. Boarded panels would either snap against the long restraint of rusted nails, aiming to take out a tenant’s shin, or suddenly crumble into debris to reveal the underneath pipes and supportive beams. It was an old building in a poor neighborhood. This left it’s upkeep to its carousel of tenants, who, between long laborious work hours, and their scant self care time, were an incomparable skeleton crew of drained care takers. The keepers, the citadel’s strange and silent natives, had been found to not come to this ground area any longer. Too many had been lost or killed to risk fixing the rot that few bothered to clean up themselves.

Mostly, the house saw itself as a safe haven to low end salarian that had had been cast out of their families, to asari strippers with no familial or gang connections to keep them and their occasional daughters out of the gutter. Once or twice in it’s hundred or so years of renting out rooms had it seen the odd turian or dying volus keep a room inside its being. But with all the denizens calling this roof home, the house had love for only one resident.

Old Buun Thuna was hugged and supported by the inner walls. Like tumors, walls had sprouted where they were never meant to have been. As such, though her door remained the size of an elcor, her home had entombed her to the bottom floor. And with only three rooms and a hallway to that. However unkind the house seemed to others, the old woman’s blinded beady eyes would mist up with love at the memory of what once was. Once upon a time, she and her bul-tarro had been wealthy merchants, moved to the Citadel for new opportunities. Never having had calves of their own, the house became their prideful child. And even after her love had migrated to the beyond, after centuries had passed, and the once rich street had decayed, here she remained. The house would not relinquish her.

But it tolerated her vagabonds.

Tegan walked down the stairs, greeted by the gentle snoring sound of the house matriarch that came from the front room. It was evening, the street lights were dimming and flickering outside of the windows. Earlier today had been a disheartening disaster. The reaction of the salarian art dealer had been the opposite of what she’d thought it would be. Running from a place that she’d hoped to walk away from, feeling vindicated, had put a heel to her being. In a nearby alleyway she’d wept with fear and frustration, unable to move as her emotions pushed forth without her say so. Tegan’s breath ran in and out faster than her body could process it, she’d clawed at the skin on her arms and side of her head in directionless desperation. Vey hadn’t been able to calm her down until a full half hour later. All Vey could do was rub Tegan’s back, try to keep the sound quiet, and fitfully watch to see if the salarian had made good on his threat to call C-Sec. Luckily, they made it home without being assaulted further. Tegan had gone to her shared bedroom to sleep off her anxiety and shame. She felt a bit better now, though still slightly hollow. She looked down at her hands and clenched them tightly, remembering how unable she’d been to speak, how they’d flapped and gestured yet failed to communicate anything.

A metal clatter came from the kitchen, drawing her attention. Muffled cursing. Her older brother’s scolding tone. Tegan tucked a thick black lock of hair behind her ear and followed the sound.

“I’m sorry. Are you the gun guy or the pipe guy?” came the harsh sass from under the sink, Vey glaring daggers at the lanky salarian standing above her, hunched over, with his arms crossed.

As Tegan entered the fray, Cetus waved miserably from the table, gesturing for her to have a seat.

“Vey. I know gears. I know nuts. I know bolts, and-”

“Great! Then you know I’ll get there, when I get there. Shut up! _I_ know how to fix leaky goddamn pipes!” Vey turned her focus back to the underneath of the large sink, a rusty, corroding pipe brushing against her side as she muttered snippily to herself.

Streaks of left behind water doused the floor, a mop propped up against the far side wall, dried aloft. The water left a crisp chill in the tips of Tegan’s toes as she sat next to her turian brother, gaze caught on Vey and Aelin.

Aelin leaned up against the countertop, chewing on a Thessian cigarette stub as he groaned and watched Vey. In the prime of his youth, his striking green eyes and rust colored skin cut a handsome figure, as he danced through crowds, through trouble, with an easy grin and a warm voice. Though being only fourteen, being a salarian had thrust him ahead of all the siblings who loved him, growing into maturity and confidence without them. This only seemed to bother Vey, however, as Tegan and Cetus were both more than happy to take his lead as the defacto truth of their family.

He flicked his cigarette stub to the other side of his mouth when Vey reappeared from beneath the sink. He reached out a cream colored palm and helped hoist her to her feet. Only then did the pair notice Tegan in the room, as she waved at them with a slight tilt to her head. “She finally wakes.” Aelin smiled back at her. “Feelin’ better, Petal?” he came to rub the crusts of leftover salt from the sides of her face.

Tegan tried to push away his hands, scrunching her cheeks and holding her face from his touch. “Yeah, a little. So the pipe finally broke, huh? I thought we were watching it?”

“Tape and towels only get us so far, Teegs.” Vey answered, rolling her neck. “I had to run to the store to grab a new pipe while the boys tried to stop the water…you can see how that turned out.” Vey sighed, taking a seat of her own at the table and propping up her feet on its rim.

“We can’t all biotic bubble our problems away, Vey.” Cetus grunted.

Cetus didn’t hold the command for attention as Aelin did; his dark brown plating, without luster or shine, causing him to bleed into the background of the wards around him, and holding no famila notas to distinguish him amongst his own people. His maturing fringe lacked the handsome edges and points. His dual toned voice still awkward and trying to synchronize with itself. But this was the trial of every turian his age. He was promised to grow out of this. His eyes, however, shone with a brilliant copper that seemed to glow and ebb from their shadowed place.

“That’s not how it works, Cetus.” Vey said flatly, raising a brow at him. “If I could just ‘biotic bubble’ my problems away, I would be doing so much more with my life right now.”

Aelin sat down beside Vey and slid a reheated plate of food in front of Tegan, for which she smiled at him gratefully. She hadn’t even realized that she’d missed dinner yet. Though, by hearing Buun Thuna’s snoring, she should have guessed. The woman always passed out after dinner. As she ate, Tegan watched as Aelin took out bits and pieces of machinery and tools from his pockets and began tinkering with them on top of an old piece of cloth.

Vey stole the cigarette stub from his mouth, flicking it towards the trashcan and missing. “Do ya have to do that on the table? You’re gonna leave grease and all other kinds of crap on it.”

Aelin looked longingly at the castaway stub. “I’ve got somethin’ under it, don’t I?”

“When’s the last time you cleaned the rag, Aelin?”

“Who spat on your fringe today?” Cetus muttered, earning a kick to the shin from across the table.

“Vey, calm down.” Aelin said, resting his hand on her shoulder and casting a quick warning glare at his younger brother. “I’ll clean up after myself. No one will complain about smelling lube while they’re eating.”

Tegan looked down at her food, pushing it around with her fork. Vey got like this when she felt the need to fix things, to be in control. The only reason Tegan could think of as to why Vey would feel like this is because of her. Because of what happened in the alley earlier… Instead of drowning in her guilt, Tegan put her focus to Aelin’s hands as they flew across his small set up. His hands were calloused scarred, though beautiful still. No scar was more than a silvery thread or a small blotch, but each had a story and a gained knowledge. He played with and put aside pieces that Tegan didn’t even know the names of.

Silence fell inadvertently upon the table, the two younger siblings watching as Vey began to tidy the kitchen, picking up the cigarette stub from earlier and tossing it disdainfully into the garbage. She smelled her fingers and crinkled her nose at the smell on them, a sickly sweet tang of competing aromas.

“You gotta teach me how to do that, Aelin.” Cetus breathed with admiration. He lay in his folded arms, eyes following better than Tegan’s. “Then I could help! We could go into business together!” Aelin smiled and nodded, chuckling. Cetus raised his head at the threat of not being taken seriously. He scowled, rounded mandibles tightening around his jaw line. “I could get good! I’m a quick learner! You and me! We’ll earn enough money to get all four of us of the station!”

“A lot of pressure on two backs, little brother.” Aelin smiled, his eyes still on his work. “But an admirable thought all the same. If you’re that keen, I’ll teach ya.”

“What about me and Vey, Cetus?” Tegan interjected. “We work to save money too!”

“I know that!” Cetus found his foot thoroughly in his mouth. “I mean…I just meant that there’s a lot more money in guns than odd jobs is all…it’s nothing to offend you girls.”

“That’s so comforting.” Vey added dryly from the background.

“Alright, that’s enough, kids.” Aelin said calmly, raising a hand. It’s presence in the air halted the girls glares. Its presence stopped Cetus from disappearing from view to the underneath of the table. He then itched the side of his neck and rose from his seat. “I’ve got to grab something from my room. I’ll be-” A knock at the door interrupted him, his neck swiveling towards the sound. “Now who could that be?” He left the room.

Cetus cleared his throat, regaining the attention of the girls ire as he tried a devilish smile. His lack of confidence, however, betrayed him as his talons ran up and down his arm. “You guys…know that I didn’t mean you don’t contribute, right? You do. We all do. Aelin just makes more money than the rest of us. I was only saying-”

“Quit while you’re ahead, Cetus.” Tegan mercifully cut in. “You’ll dig yourself out faster that way.”

“I’m sorry.” He chirred. One sister patted the top of his head while the other ruefully patted his back.

“Tanlin. Kind of late to be calling.” Aelin could be heard from the front hall, and a chill swept down upon the trio in the kitchen as if hit with a cryogenic grenade.

Their breath halted as the three of them peaked out from the kitchen. Tegan’s skin suddenly felt unbearable to live in, as it crawled up and down her nerves and bones at the sight of him standing at the door.

His silver carapace had knicks and gouges taken out of it. His arms and hands were covered in raw discolored scars. The turian’s right mandible hung awkwardly from his jaw line, a dead almost necrotic thing that had simply been left there. When the people of the neighborhood cried out in fear at night, it was at the thought of his talons racking through the stone of their homes.

Juliter Tanlin, the despot of the Tayseri ward slums.

Behind him walked two of his men, another turian and his right hand man, a rather disdainful looking batarian. Juliter leered at the salarian in the doorway as he approached. His naked hands were half stuffed into his pants pockets, revealing the all too cruel looking talon on his thumb that rubbed against the fabric in long languid circles. “Evening, Aelin.” He chirped, friendly enough sounding. The three in the kitchen came to stand at their brother’s backside, both hiding behind him and trying to provide support if it were needed. Tegan grabbed at Cetus’ arm, eyeing the batarian in Tanlin’s company nervously.

Aelin stood straight, his shoulders squared and his mouth set in a stern grin. “It’s late.” He repeated. “Buun Thuna generally doesn’t take kindly to rudeness. You should have come by earlier.”

The turian gang lord smiled dangerously, a soft chirring sound coming from the back of his throat. “When else am I supposed to find you here, Aelin? It’s not like your old cow can pay my fee. And you’re so much more charming to deal with than your little rats, here.”

Aelin leaned up against the door jam, his tight smile remained. Aelin cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms. He made a disapproving tutting sound, feigning pity. “I know I’m pretty, but there has to be a better way of getting my attention, Tanlin. It’s almost the kiddies’ bedtime after all. You’re just embarrassing yourself now.”

Juliter made a irritable noise by clapping his working mandible against the side of his face and shook his head, talons ferociously flashing against his fist. “Where’s the protection fee, salarian?”

“I wasn’t expecting you today. I don’t seem to have it on me.” Aelin shrugged. “Vey, dearest. Would you run up to the room to grab the chit? It’s on my desk.” There was a kind of finality in the tilt of his mouth, in the curve of his lower eyelids. Aelin continued to stare down his house guest as he said this, only putting an affectionate hand on Vey’s shoulder.

With a stiff nod, Vey disappeared up the stairs.

It was subtle, the shift in Juliter’s sneer. A dangerous glint still paired with that business like smile, his eyes combed through those in the doorway. His men felt the shift in atmosphere, and moved forward slightly. Their guns clacked against their armor as they moved from shoulder to palm. Cetus gave Tegan’s hand a reassuring squeeze before he moved her behind him. “Word on the street is that business has been kind to you, Aelin. I was happy to hear it. Your weapons are something else.”

“Uh huh. Thank you.”

Tegan’s nerves shimmied down from her skull to her tailbone, the air around the two men feeling more like toxic gas the longer Juliter was around. She and Cetus looked up towards Aelin. This wasn’t the first time that these two stood up to each other like this, but it was always this unpleasant. Aelin would be angrily muttering to himself for the rest of the night, musing about using a pistol to cure the Juliter problem once and for all. Surely, he’d never do it though. Despite having a skill building them, Tegan couldn’t recall ever seeing Aelin fire anything but recoil test shots. But watching the way his eyelids tightened themselves, twitching only enough to be barely noticeable, Tegan became afraid of what her brother might be capable of.

“What does it cost me to get a pretty piece from you, Aelin?” Juliter’s voice twisted lecherously off of his breath.

“Your greasy hands will never hold one of my guns, Tanlin.” Aelin chuckled meanly.

The turian did not like that.

Vey finally reappeared, huffing and wheezing after having run up and down the stairs, and held the chip out to Aelin. Tegan pat and rubbed her back before Vey shooed her away gently. “Here you are then, Tanlin. Your ill gotten goods.” Aelin held out the small card in between his fingers. Tegan saw Vey’s face visibly tighten as she watched not Juliter Tanlin, but Aelin.

The turian to Juliter’s left snatched the chit, pocketing it.

Moments of silence passed, each group watching their leaders casually eye each other. Aelin, stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, a false easy air about him. Juliter stood straight, his chest plates proudly puffed outward, but that one thumb talon constantly circling and threatening to tear the fabric of his pants.

Juliter finally shifted his gaze down towards Cetus, grinning cruelly. “Well, look at you, bare-face. You’re finally growing into that fringe of yours.” He took hold of Cetus’s jaw, pulling him closer and turning his head this way and that to get a better look at him. Aelin took a small step forward, but was stopped from moving further as the girls grabbed him by the arms. “It won’t be too much longer before I conscript you to work for me, I think.” The crime lord sneered up at Aelin, still clutching Cetus. Aelin glowered at the two of them. “Keep this one well fed, salarian. He’s filling out so nicely.”

“LET GO OF ME!” Cetus squirmed against Juliter’s talons, drawing small metallic smelling blue smudges across his cheekbones and mandibles the more he struggled. The bigger turian tightened his grip on the boys face, twisting his fingers in order to skew where skin and plates should be. Cetus let out a small undignified chirp of pain. The kind that made a young turian seem so much younger than thirteen.

“Mind yourself, bare-face.” Juliter warned. “Or did Aelin here not teach you to respect your betters?” He teased a talon along the edge of Cetus’s eye. This man was the kind who enjoyed the pain of others. Duct rats were more familiar with this than most. Words and sounds carry within the metal tunnels in the walls, to the point where a person could consider themselves lucky if a kid was within earshot when Juliter was around. It meant that if they were beaten half to death, there was the chance the kids could fetch help in time-if the duct rat was so inclined. The ducts were also a good place to hide if he decided to add child hunting onto his to-do list that day. It happened often enough, and plenty of kids that Tegan knew had several long scars across their little bodies from these hunts. He especially aimed to mark turian kids, for a reason few knew of. Juliter had a vicious, gleeful madness in his eyes at times that blocked out all sense and fear in the man.

Aelin grabbed at Juliter’s arm. “I can’t imagine anyone more unworthy of Cetus’ time.” He almost looked bored. Slightly insulted. Even though she was just watching the exchange, Tegan’s stomach knotted itself as she took a step further into the house.

Vey tried to pull Aelin back by the arm. “Aelin.” She hissed “Behave!”

“Obey the maiden, Aelin.” Juliter leered. For a moment, it looked as if Aelin was about to comply. But then Aelin looked down at Cetus- still crushed and trying to painfully pry himself from the larger turian’s grip, little trails of blood smeared against his mandibles and cheeks.

“Let the boy go, Tanlin.” The man apparently had a death wish.

The scene began and whirled too quickly for Tegan to process, her arms could only glue themselves to her sides with shock. Still holding tight to Cetus, Juliter took a heavy swing at the salarian, his talons drawn to lacerate. Aelin dodged downward, landing a kick to Juliter’s shoulder and one of his men pushed forward. The turian goon held Vey struggling against the wall.

In the commotion, Tegan was left in the open. She’d frozen again, standing there like a fool while her friends grappled against the turian gang-lord. Like the sound of shattering ice, a cold shiver ran up Tegan’s spine. The batarian had moved forward slowly, silently; unseen as the others grappled with each other. Yellow eyes burning through Aelin’s skin. Tegan knew this face. Her eyes froze on Aelin and her breath clogged her throat. She feared this face. Korek Grek’nerah.

He was a giant, unnatural and terrifying in his own visage. Towering over most turians and salarian’s around him, he could still move unseen through most crowds. Like a shadow incarnated in mass. He rarely spoke. His eyes were forever probing and invasive, so unkind in the way they landed upon you. How long he’d been working for Juliter, how long he’d been living on the citadel, none knew.

Korek at snaked his way behind Aelin, pulling the salarian off of his boss and hanging him by the shoulders. Aelin struggled against his restraints with a choked gasp. 

Juliter’s eyes were pinpricks of rage. Watching him breathe, his eyes glowed, light seemingly doubling over itself in the attempt to flee from its source. Juliter launched Cetus from his vice like grip, off of the steps of the house. He curled his talons into a tight fist. Aiming beneath Aelin’s hood, the blow struck so hard that his own man slid back an inch at the force of it. Vey shrieked, waking Tegan from her horrified stillness. Aelin fell to the ground, cheek skidding on the concrete landing.

Cetus roared, lunging for Juliter. The older turian dodged the youngsters attack, swinging around and shoving Cetus off the steps again. “Next time, Aelin-” Juliter growled. “How about I deal with the asari instead? See if she can hold better manners.” That cold madness in his eye. Venom and distain dripped from his voice as he towered above the salarian, his foot languidly turning Aelin’s head to look up at him. “And have one of your pretty little trinkets made up for me. _I do so like shiny new toys_.”

A wet, ugly cough came as Juliter’s answer. Aelin continually tried to prop himself up but each new cough seemingly bowled through his strength, forcing him once again to the concrete. The girls rushed to his side.

Cetus stood at the bottom of all this, staring up as Juliter passed him, trailing behind him the cold and regal air of a despot. Juliter gave his cohorts an affectionate pat on their shoulders, chuckling as he turned back and watched Tegan and Vey work to prop Aelin against the wall. “Remember this, bare-face.” He leered at the boy, mandibles twisted and risen in a grin, “Someday, you’re either going to be one of them, or one of us. You tell me which of us is still standing.”

As the three men walked away, there was silence between them-punctuated by Aelin’s labored breathing. Perhaps it was shame that kept them quiet, or terror. Vey allowed the other two to hold up Aelin’s weight as she went about raising his shirt, noting shallow cuts glistening in liquid green and heavy bruising, wiping the slight spatter of green from the corner of Aelin’s mouth. Swelling was sure to come soon.

The bottom of the barrel. Least likely to be missed. Most likely to be impounded by C-sec. Doomed to either die young or survive long enough to see themselves give in to ruthless calculus. Heavy thoughts like these swam inside of the children’s minds as they watched the top of the food chain walk away with a swagger in his step.

The heavy wooden door lurched to life behind the group, opening inward, revealing the elephantine form of Buun Thuna herself. Her old eyes yellowed with cataracts and grey skin cracked and wrinkled with the stories of her long life. “Worriedly: children, is that you outside?” Her head turned this way and that, listening to the groups hushed and gasping sounds. “Afraid: has something happened that I should be aware of?”

“Nothing to worry about, Aunt Buun.” Aelin coughed, doing his best to stand at his full height. He winced sharply and fell back into Vey and Tegan’s expecting arms. “Just paid Tanlin’s fee is all.”

Aelin threw up until his stomach had nothing else to give after the four had scurried back into the house. He hardly made it up the stairs.

Tegan sat outside of Aelin and Vey’s room on the top floor of the house, listening to the sounds of Aelin’s groans of pain as Vey did her best to patch him up. Tegan hugged her knees tight to her chest, wincing when Aelin cried out and listening as Vey chided him.

“You’re lucky that it’s only a bruised lung! What were you thinking?” Vey’s voice echoed through the crack beneath the door.

“That Cetus was in pain...” Aelin’s voice sounded as if it hurt to even breath, much less speak. “Did you see the poor kid’s face?”

“He’s a lot less hurt than you are right now! If you had just stayed still, he would have let go of Cetus sooner. You know better!”

“Ouch! That stings, Veyeen. Please, gentle.” Another coughing fit interrupted them, sickening and painful to even listen to.

Tegan sniffled quietly. A doctor had been called to see to Aelin, but it being late, and it being a slums doctor, the children were given some pain medication and something to measure the salarian’s breathing rate. This visit had drained their savings significantly. Tegan thought about Vey. While she usually looked down at those around her with an asari’s natural disregard, how she considered them so much younger than her, Aelin was always exempt from this. She’d known him the longest. Vey would always love Aelin best. For a handful of years, it had only been she and he. Now she fretted over and chided him behind a closed door.

Tegan’s ears pricked at the sound of Vey’s voice, but couldn’t make out the words, even as she leaned closer toward the door. The sound was muffled. It sounded like crying. Tegan imagined that Vey had tucked her face into Aelin’s back, scowling into the skin.

“I know…I know. But he didn’t. Give me a few weeks and I’ll be good as normal…I just can’t make him that gun. Not my work. Not his hands…”

“Oh forget the gun, Aelin!”

“OW! Vey! Watch out for my eyes, would you?”

This sounded like a good place to stop eavesdropping. Tegan shuffled down the hallway towards her and Cetus’ shared room. A small, warm beam of light shown from beneath the door. The room was divided by a white sheet that hung over a string nailed to the ceiling. Cetus’s side was filled with cushions littering the floor. These he had either lifted from furniture stores or fished out of the garbage cleaned, and repaired. Soft blankets lay sprawled out or balled up all over the place, and he had an affinity for earthy browns, reds, and oranges. There was no proper mattress, but a pile of pillows and blankets lay in the corner. He seemed to prefer it this way. Her own side was so barren in contrast. Only having sparse broken things that she’d found and kept sitting on a shelf,;a lamp, a pile of folded hand me down clothes, and an old futon.

The young turian sat at his old desk, bent over crumpled up papers and a ratty notebook. Tegan walked toward him and leaned over his back, lacing her arms around his neck to snoop about his doings and resting her head on the rim of his cowl and breathing in the soft smell of the fabrics that surrounded the two. “…Is Aelin okay?” Cetus asked, tilting his head forward so that his fringe didn’t stab her in the face. Tegan nodded softly, closing her eyes as the weight of the day ebbed out of her shoulders. She listened to the scribbling from his desk top. She listened to and felt out his perturbed breathing, waiting. Cetus had been quiet since Juliter left, even as he and Tegan watched Vey and the doctor give Aelin a once over. There was a stone on his soul and she waited for him to release it.

“We’ve gotta get outta here.” He muttered miserably.

“We’re working on it.”

“Not fast enough” Cetus’ pencil halted for a moment “…I won’t work for him. Not for all the money on the Citadel. I will not benefit that bastard!”

Tegan opened her eyes and saw the miserable bulk of him, his shoulder following the mad scribbling from his table. Cetus didn’t turn to look at her. Sometimes, it was hard to form the right words in Tegan’s head. Her first impulse was to hold him. “Are you talking about Juliter?” She hugged him tighter. A small nod. “What he said got to you?” No affirmation this time, just more scribbling. “He’s a liar. You’re better than him… We’ll make it off the station before he gets you.”

A moment of silence.

“Aelin said he’s gonna teach me to be a gun smith. That’ll help get merch out faster. More money coming in.” Cetus said as much to himself as to Tegan, making notes and plans near questionable sketches of different guns he’d thought up. “Though, you and Vey are still going to have to get odd jobs. Probably better opportunities in the market district. Better chances of them taking you seriously.”

As she looked at his notes and figures on the pages, there was organization to his thoughts. If she was stuck in the markets how would she ever make it back to the gallery window? The magnetic pull that was too much to bear. Though she’d always felt stupid in comparison to those close to her, fixing the gallery owners artwork was the first time she remembered ever feeling wholly in her element. The clay and glue that stuck to her skin for days had given her a sense of accomplishment she’d never known. Cetus was completely right, of course. Vendors were always looking for cheap, easy labor. Tegan and Vey would find an easier time earning money there. They wouldn’t have to fight as hard. She tightened her grip around Cetus’ shoulders. Her mind was probably just making things unnecessarily difficult again.

“-and once that happens, we can all actually have fun! Vey will be able to stop mothering us. Aelin can get a license to work legally. He wouldn’t have to deal with crap like that! You and me, we can finally figure out what we’re good at and do it!” Tegan blinked herself out of her stupor, realizing that Cetus had never stopped talking. He held up his plans closer to the light, scrutinizing them with agonizing detail. Tegan took notice that even his notes had side notes. Roughly done, amateur sketches that looked more like they belonged in the hands of super heroes; Aelin would have to teach him to be more practical.

Tegan let out a heavy yawn, rubbing her face against the fabric of Cetus’ shirt, trying to rid herself of the weariness that had begun to crash over her. “I’m sorry. I’m listening, really.” She mumbled sleepily. “It’s been a long day.”

Cetus sighed, shoving her a bit with his back. “Go to your side then. You drool when you sleep.”

“Nuh-uh.” Tegan yawned again. “Do not.” Cetus understood where this was going. The girl would not be told. Instead, he stood from his chair and pushed Tegan past the curtain and toppled her over the futon. For good measure, he grabbed her pillow and threw it on her head. “You’re so mean.” Tegan called out. She grabbed her soft blanket and curled into a snug little ball.

“Sure, sure. Just go to sleep”

“Night...Love you …”

“Goodnight, Tegan. Love you to, ya strange-o.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bul-tarro: an elcor husband!
> 
> Brief headcannon time: Aelin's skin tone. Looking back at the conversation with Mordin, how multiple species had made a pass at him, I queued in on his mention of his skin tone. I know he only mentioned it being attractive to turians, but I want to have fun with it. Red salarians are the salarian version of asari! Everyone wants a piece of that! I've seen maybe three red salarians in the series: Chorban, Mordin, and Jaroth. I find all of them ridiculously attractive!


	4. Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salarian Vocabulary:
> 
> Ohm're: salarian woman
> 
> Dala'Sian: a ceremony christening a new Dalatrass
> 
> \---------------------
> 
> Okay this took me a few months to get done! Work kept getting in my waaay! Now to go back and edit/rewrite chapter three. That thing has haunted me for months.

He drifted home to a planet far away from the Citadel; where the grass grew high and he and his brothers would come home after a day of play, smelling of clay and tropical pollen. The smell of jungle plants seeped into the humidity of the air and rich, moist soil conformed to the feet. Lau could almost feel and smell the sunshine of Nasurn … _Damn_. This herbal mixture was everything that the asari vendor had said it would be! He sunk lower into the deep trench of the tub, water tickling the muscles in his head. He breathed in the arid spice and wished it were possible to stay here in the water, time easing to a standstill, for the rest of the day.

He’d been in the tub all morning, finally able to steal a few hours to rehydrate his porous skin. The recycled air of the Citadel tended to lean towards the dry side and long, frequent bathes had become necessary since moving here to run the gallery.

It was now nearly noon, standard station time, and the world outside of the bathroom called. He had obligations to attend to and a certain asari to appease. He heaved himself lazily from the tub.

Inside the apartment, his strict habits were as uniform as his decorating-dealing in sharp corners and absolutes. Get out of the tub. Facial moisturizer. Body moisturizer. Horn oil. Eye drops. Get dressed. Straighten up the bathroom. Turn on the venting fan. Then it was off to the kitchen for a quick cup of tea and a small amount of nutrient paste. As he ate, Lau didn’t taste a thing. The man ran on auto-pilot, watching the clock, stealing minutes for himself. He had to be sure to only take what could reasonably be excused away.

Eramanthe had only thought to invite him to the Art Museum at the last moment, yet had the gall to say it would mean ‘so so much’ if he showed up. He couldn’t decide if it was because the museum had borrowed a piece from her two hundreds and she wanted a visible excuse to avoid it or if it was that she was asked to be a speaker, but she was excited none the less.

Five minutes stolen.

Lau knew she had other friends to bother about this kind of thing. She hadn’t given him time to reasonably ‘think on it’ before he had to tell her ‘no’ on the pretense of pretending to be busy. Somehow the woman thought that inviting him just yesterday evening was practical. Lau had been in the middle of dinner. He had looked forward to doing absolutely nothing today. He shambled about the apartment, deciding now was the perfect time to straighten sofa cushions in the living room.

Seven minutes.

“ _Never should have answered that call_.” The salarian grumbled under his breath. He took a lint roller to his shirt, his keen eyes and hands zipping over stray bits of fuzz that stubbornly held to the fabric. A beige dress-shirt with a built-in abdominal guard and quarter rolled sleeves. Black pants. Newly polished boots. Gloves that reached just to the edge of his palm-a gift from his sister and apparently the current style at home.

Nine minutes.

Lau ruefully locked up his apartment and walked to the closest rapid transit port. Fifteen minutes on the dot. The alarm on his omni-tool began to ring as he punched his destination into the terminal. Precisely on time. In this way, he could easily blame traffic on his tardiness, explaining to Eramanthe how there was a decent wait for a cab and how traffic had been bad at a certain intersection.

He enjoyed that RT cabs didn’t need real people to drive. As annoying as her portals could be, cabs operated by an Avina module were a god-send to the socially averse. Only tell her where you needed to be and then enjoy the quiet while you could.

On the annual occasion, The Ambei’on Museum of Culture and Art would open its doors to the public free of charge-claiming to want to spread a celebration of diversity in the galaxy. Parents often brought bored children, who ran around with heinous abandon. College students would come with sketch books in hand to study form. Art collectors would walk about, admiring and hunting for prestigious artists they had yet to purchase a piece from. Lau stood outside the front doors, staring up at the event banner.

Inside, the halls and amphitheater were abuzz with excitement and the garbled conversations of dozens of groups as they wandered about. This year the museum had welcomed in some of the most prominent works from the human race into their collection. Human artists and tour guides stood by pieces, grandly speaking of the history and importance of their assigned station. As Lau walked through the building towards the Asari wing, he made a mental note to make the trip here another time to look at what human art had to offer. He’d caught glimpses of works in passing, and though one of the more ugly species in the galaxy, human artists seemed to have a similar grip with the asari on universal form. Even if their painted colors were muddied at first glance.

As a college student, Lau had once thought his work would end up in a museum like this. He smiled to himself and shook his head at youthful folly. So few artists among the millions were actually purchased by museums; or were considered influential enough to be remembered in grand halls. Eramanthe had been at the game for three centuries. Now in her four-hundreds, she was bound to have at least one piece in a museum or another.

“Lau! Hey!” Lau focused ahead of him as Eramanthe waved, shouting to gain his attention in one of the most earnest, undignified manners. He half smiled, waving back at her as he walked. “I’m so glad you could finally make it!”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late. Traffic got bad at-”

“Oh I don’t care about that!” Eramanthe waved off his feigned concern. “I’m just glad you showed up! I was sure you were going to tell me to bugger off when I called last night.” Her voice bounced with glee, Eramanthe’s smile curling around her cheeks as she took Lau arm in arm and began to walk.

“ _Bugger off_?” Lau gave her a strange look. “Is that new slang you picked up somewhere?”

“It’s a _human_ expression I learned recently while out people watching!” She took her free hand and waved it in front of them-as if she were relating to him something regal. “It means to hit the road! Get lost! Go away!” Lau made a small humming sound, shook his head. “Well I liked it!” Eramanthe defended, turning up her nose playfully. “Eighteen years of their being in space and I’m still learning so much about the species.”

“Only you would consider slang as educational.” Lau answered flatly, scratching the beneath of his jaw.

“You smell really nice today. You wearing a new cologne?”

They walked together companionably for a while, Eramanthe blathering on about some of the artists being displayed-how she’d like to meet and collaborate with them. Lau kept a constant eye out for business partners of his family. A hand full of them lived on the Citadel as well. If he had to deal with the business aspect of his life today, Lau was sure that he’d end up on the evening news under the banner “Salarian Nerves Break.” Or “Frog-Man Gone Wild!” He wasn’t even entirely sure what a frog was.

The Grand Hall was a wide long room that was saved for sculptures of all sizes-those that ranged on the smaller side were presented closer to the walls, allowing for larger sculptures to breathe on the open floor. The best of every species creators were featured here in stone and sand, wood and clay, metal and waylaid junk. The room had the comforting smells of fresh floor polish and aging materials. The two would point out pieces that caught their fancy and stop to discuss it for a moment. Move on to the next piece.

Eramanthe stopped and pointed out a sculpture that froze Lau's breath into a tight ball inside his throat. It was radiant. It was powerful. Abstract metal spikes, not quite connected, depicted the mighty and solid form of the turian people. When viewed at a distance, it was everything the turian hierarchy was known for. However, as the viewer grew closer to the piece and circled about, the more gapes appeared in the polished metal. In the center of this behemoth, made of softer curves and wood, was a form that knelt on bended knees and clutching at its head and shoulders heaved up around the cowl. The wood could have been visually appealing, but large gouges had been taken from the form-its surface was splintered and scratched.

It was perfect…everything here had to be placed just so. The execution was flawless. It was one of those pieces that dared you to reach out to feel the reality of its existence. Lau resisted this urge, of course. He wasn’t an animal. But it was there none the less. The corner of his mouth threatened to twitch, to become an awed sense of wonder and respect. Maybe he could get the artist to contribute to the gallery…maybe the gallery could afford to commission a piece for permanent display!

“Caius Olymlin.” Eramanthe read the artist plaque. Lau turned jaggedly to face her. The crazy bastard was already in museums? _So soon_? He looked back up at the piece. The space between years became tangible in front of Lau’s eyes. He hadn’t ever thought Caius capable of such complexity-

_So careless. So reckless. The light catches his plates as he laughs, shining mercury. Surrounded by others, magnetic. Despised by the teachers around him. Despised by me. He plays more than he studies. His work is safe forms, passing grades. If he doesn’t take this seriously, why is he here?_

-He’d always had great talent, but such discipline? He’d grown so much as an artist. “Goddess! Lau, get the load of this! He made this right out of college! That’s just not fair.”

Of-fucking-course he did.

The enchantment died in Lau’s eyes, his aloof scowl returning. Taking two steps from the sculpture, Lau’s boots clicked against the wooden floor when he returned to Eramanthe’s side. “You don’t say.” He droned, briefly glancing at the plaque. “Well, some have the eye at a young age. Shall we go on to your piece?”

“Ah-we don’t need to do that.” Eramanthe waved off the idea, smiling uncomfortably. “It’s just from the Athame series. I **_really_** don’t need to see those… _ever_ again.”

Lau smirked, shaking his head at her. Artists and their inexplicable need to distance themselves from old works would forever be funny. Lau gestured forward as Eramanthe took his arm once more and they left Olymlin’s reputation behind without a second glance…barely.

In his desperation to put distance between him and the sculpture, Lau allowed Eramanthe to take the lead as they walked through the rest of the grand hall and through other bits of the museum. He teased Eramanthe-threatened to drag her toward “Athame in Water-Light” for ‘the culture’ and ‘the pride’ in his friend for having a piece of art in a gig like this!

“So, when is Zejaa’s _Dala’Sian_?” Eramanthe asked, trying to subtly turn the two away from her sculpture’s location. Subtlety was never her strong suit.

“A little more than nine months. Big parties like that take time to get together.” Lau shrugged. “Client’s need to make time on their schedules, family circles need to be notified to send their leading member. Etcetera.”

“Goddess. I’ll never understand why it takes you guys so long to officially put someone in office. She’s been Dalatrass for what? A year and a half already?”

“ _Acting_ Dalatrass, Era.” Lau pointed out. He pushed her gently with his shoulder, which only served to make the both of them sway slightly. “Completely different set of forms and treaties. There is the proper mourning period to consider, after all.” All these years of closely working within a salarian dynasty and she still cared to know so little about whom she dealt with. Some prideful part of Lau chose to guffaw at Eramanthe’s perceived audacity.

“And some of you still wonder why Illicei turned down the job. So damn fussy-” Eramanthe’s attention was suddenly called away by a museum attendant and a group of guests, waiting around with eager eyes. She’d be back in a few moments.

Lau took the chance to sit on a bench and assume a distant gaze. He barely remembered anything about his grandmother. He’d been too young when she’d passed on to the next circle. He only knew her from what he’d heard. What he heard was she’d been one of the most willful _ohm’re_ in his family in recent memory. Eramanthe seemed to look back on her fondly enough. But then, she liked most everyone. His mother, Illicei’s daughter, looked back on his grandmother with more embarrassment and distance. She suggested to his clutch of ten that they do the same.

He stretched his fingers against the fabric of his pants. Tension he hadn’t been aware of eased out of the digits as the white noise of the museum visitors hummed off of the walls. Today wasn’t completely intolerable. Maybe he’d grab some lunch with Eramanthe before walking home. Lau’s favorite food vendor, an arthritic old salarian, was near here. Lau, being one who generally didn’t enjoy cooking, figured he’d treat himself and buy enough to have for dinner later.

“So-” Eramanthe reappeared, waking Lau from his train of thought. “It looks like I’m a little late for a talk I’m supposed to give. It’s for a bunch of kids and their parents. I’ll only like fifteen or so minutes…”she planted her hands on his shoulders and patted them. “Stay! I’ll bring back some wine for us!” Gone again before Lau could blink. How did a woman with such short legs move so fast? One would think she were more rubber than a salarian whelp.

Now alone, he was able to take in the room fully. The colors of clothes against the multicolored stone blurred and lurched. Then his eyes glanced over a ghost in the crowd that made his chest heave with a heavy groan. The duct rat girl.

Damn the gods.

The girl stood still among the crowd, strange faces passing her by without seeing. But Lau saw her, much to his discomfort. He’d never seen one stranger so often. There was an entire ward, an entire _station,_ of people between them and yet he saw her more and more often. A stranger is supposed to have the decency to go away after a brief encounter.

Despite Lau’s staring, she had yet to see him. Though still dirty and unkempt, her eyes were placid, her face blank as she stared up at a jagged red stone statue. 

It was her hands that caught the flick of his gaze. How, though glued to her sides, they moved and caressed imaginary forms. Lau blinked a few times. He analyzed. She wasn’t touching it, though her fingers were ravenous. If Lau had to guess, he’d think…was she tracing the object of her hands attention. It was just an old krogan statue, crudely carved a millennium ago. It wasn’t an attractive thing by any means. Even the face had corroded over time. More or less, it had probably been donated by some collector as a possible tax write off. Or perhaps found by an archeologist before the krogan’s had become an isolationist nation on Tuchanka. Cultural history, perhaps. But art history?

The girl’s eyes roved over it, though. She looked for something that his, admittedly biased world view, could not reach. She’d looked at his worthless scrap too…his horns burned slightly. Obviously she had yet to learn how to look at anything worthwhile. For now she wielded misguided eyes.

He considered her.

He considered his options.

He considered how much he was potentially going to regret this.

“You know, I never did get the… opportunity to thank you, properly. For returning the sculpture you broke, that is.” Lau cleared his voice appearing at her backside. 

Her shoulders bounced up around her neck, her hands immediately flinched into little claws. A slight gasp that could count almost as a strangled screech. Well…he hadn’t meant to scare her so.

Lau looked to the statue she’d been so enamored with. He wore a false smile, shifting his weight from foot to foot almost imperceptibly. “It was unexpected. I apologize for my anger then. I was certain you had come back to rob me. Not return a repaired sculpture.” Should he tell her that it was admirable? He probably shouldn’t. The right thing was done and it would be repetitive to say more.

The human didn’t say anything. How awkward. She just glanced at him with those piercing eyes over and over again. Looked from her shoes to him; back to her shoes. Back to him. She nodded, swallowing. Lau began to reconsider his decision to come over here. “Your school teacher should be praised. They’ve done a fine job teaching you at an introductory level of clay work. Eramanthe, my asari friend, wouldn’t shut up about how pleased she was at your repairs.” He wondered if he sounded friendly enough? Should he try better eye contact? The two stood, shoulder to hip, as still as the stone in front of them.

“Was….was it her sculpture?” She squeaked. _Finally_!

“Er, no. Someone else’s.”

More quiet between them. What had been so fascinating to her about this krogan rock?

“I don’t…go…to school.” The girl wrung the hem of her shirt repeatedly.

Lau looked down at her with offended surprise. ‘ _I suppose that explains her lack of manners before.’_ he thought to himself. “But, where did you learn to fix that, without anyone to teach you?”

She shrugged, looking down and rolling her open palms. “I dunno. I followed the wire…it looked right?”

Right. The base armatures. He’d momentarily forgotten those were in there. “Tell me” he cleared his throat, looking back towards the broken immortalized krogan, “I noticed you were looking at this. What catches your eye?”

“It’s pretty. You can see where it got hurt. It feels nice, the edges-I didn’t touch it!” She clarified, fiddling with her hands when Lau shot her an incredulous glare. “I-imagined- it feels strong. That’s all. How it looks, I mean. It’s still got a lot of sharp parts in it- on it. That he doesn’t have a face…feels comfortable? Like he could be…I dunno. I just…like it. I guess.”

“You were staring at it rather hard to simply ‘like’ it. And what about your hands? You were-”

“I didn’t touch it! I swear. They just _do_ that when I…look…at pretty things.” Her cheeks burned red, and her brows knit together. Lau watched as she knotted her fingers behind her back. He took a deep breath.

“It’s a texture thing, isn’t it?” He smiled at her. A small smile! Only to say he understood. There were things in life, when they lay in your hands, that made a person feel like comfortably vibrating. Or those things made them feel at a standstill, complete in their focus. “Understandable. Plenty of people have that and just don’t notice the need as keenly as others.” Her eyes grew to the size of small moons. “I suppose if you’re looking for texture, krogan art is a good place to seek it out-”

“Whazza difference?”

“Excuse me?”

“The difference. I mean, krogan art-isn’t all art the same? No matter who makes it?”

“A decent question, I suppose.” Lau shrugged and crossed his arms. “Different species have different needs of the senses, and scope of emotion. As an example, asari artists tend to work with soft, gentle curves. Classy and refined. Whereas krogans don’t seem to edit themselves, leading to the edges. No forethought, no planning. Just straight into it and getting a rather rough looking final product, but there’s honesty to it…if often a jaded honesty. An artist is only limited by their imagination, but their culture and environment do color their tastes and styles. To say all art is _‘the same’_ is insulting to the works. Not to mention _rude_.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be.” The cageyness in her eyes had dulled some. She looked at the statue again, a small smile gracing her features. “I wanna do that when I grow up.” She said, nearly under her breath; more to the air around her than to him or anyone else.

Lau scoffed, “You could certainly pick better points of inspiration to base that off of. This piece of junk is more than likely here as appeasement. Even if you do have an affinity for krogan art, there are better examples.” He looked down at her, an unsure knot forming at the base of his gut. “What did you say your name was, earlier? I don’t believe I caught it.”

“Tegan.”

He nodded. “You may call me Ropon.” What could Lau say next? He knew, but part of him was still uncomfortable. It was a complete disaster last time. But…everything he’d been trained to believe seemed to stand in front of him. _Some have the eye at a young age_. Lau looked at her in earnest. “You-If you’d like to actually learn a bit about sculpting, I’d consider…having you back at the gallery for a few lessons.”

The duct ra…Tegan’s mouth dropped open and she gapped at him like a fish- eyes all a twinkle. He straightened his posture and folded his arms behind his back. “You’ll have to work for me though, in exchange. I’m not just handing out a free ride. Cleaning will have to suffice until I find a way to make you more useful.”

“YESSIR!”

Sudden. Irritating. “No need to shout.” He hushed, looking about them as others curiously looked in their direction. They soon lost interest. “Show up late morning tomorrow. Ten to Eleven, preferably. Once the work is done, I’ll see where I need to start with you.”

Tegan bit her lower lip, jaw trembling with excitement as she continually nodded. Lau was surprised she wasn’t making herself dizzy like that. That kind of enthusiasm…Lau was almost jealous. He scanned the room for an approaching Eramanthe. Wishing for escape. Needing the wine she’d promised to return with. Tegan continued to stare at him eagerly, her smile a ‘u’ of excitement. It made him uncomfortable-like trying to humor nieces and nephews that were a year old. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well…I have other things I need to be doing today. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

If running away from a child could in any way look dignified, Lau would have done so. Instead, he turned on heel and walked away with his back straight and arms still folded behind him…desperately wanting booze.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Aelin! Guess what!” Tegan bounced down the steps of the museum, towards a waiting older brother with a warm smile and a rub for her head.

Aelin stood up from his place on the steps and stretched his long arms. “Whazz’at, Petal? You look pretty happy right now.” Tegan smiled and nodded her head, taking Aelin’s hand in her own. She loved the sound of his voice; the way he always sounded tired, a bit husky-speaking in rounded tones. When she’d been small enough to share a bed with Vey and had had a nightmare, she remembered him rubbing her toddler belly and murmuring little pattering phrases in a language unknown to her. Though, thanks to the blow he took to the underneath of his hood the evening past, he sounded wheezy, as though it still hurt to enunciate.

He took a long drag of a cigarette as the two descended down the stone steps, blueish gray smoke exhaled. Tegan watched it twist and curl until the smoke dissipated into the air. “Aren’t you trying to quit?” she pursed her lips as she gave him a solid look.

Aelin only chuckled, taking the thing in between his teeth as he spoke. “Vey certainly thinks I should. Harder to quit than she thinks it is, though.”

“You’re not even going to try, are you?”

“Not at the moment, no. So, what’s the thing I should be guessing at?”

As the two walked down the street, Tegan twittered on all about her afternoon in the museum, all the pretty things that she’d seen! Aelin had a hard time imagining the paintings and sculptures she talked about but smiled along with her enthusiasm. That is, until she started telling him about the art dealer again. The more she talked about her conversation with him, the more Aelin’s paranoia twisted his stomach. His smile became a much wearier thing, though he tried not to quash her fervor. He listened to her babble on until they came to a small convenience store, where Aelin bought them both a fruity drink and sat them on a bench. (His bruised lung had begun to feel tired from the walking anyway, so now was as good a time as any to break.)

“Petal, I’m very glad you’re excited for this. But, you didn’t give him a...immediate answer, did you?” His fingers played with the condensation on the cold bottle.

“Yes?” Tegan answered, taking a gulp of the drink. “Why?”

“Well… You have a habit of doing this when you’re excited or want to help. And sometimes you end up regretting that, y’know-”

“That’s not gonna happen this time. This’ll be so much fun!”

Aelin stayed quiet for a minute, taking a drink and thinking. “Okay…um, I’m going to come with you tomorrow then. Just to keep an eye on things…see what you learn while over there.”

“No!” Tegan stood suddenly. Her hair moved along with her, like a wild animal, as she slammed down her bottle onto the bench, glaring at her brother. Tears burned their threat at the edge of her eyes. “No! You wouldn’t be saying this if it were Vey or Cetus! I’m not stupid! I don’t need you to babysit me!”

“This is _not_ babysitting! And I never said you were stupid, Tegan.” Aelin tried leveling her with a stern glare, patting the seat beside him again. She only crossed her arms and withdrew further from him. He groaned, leaning against the bench and feeling his bruises wince and swirl. “Yes, I would say the same thing to the other two. You’re a bit on the naïve side, Petal. I need to make sure you’re okay with this guy.”

“It’s fine! He invited me! There’s going to be other people around, so I’ll be fine!”

“You get more stubborn by the day, you know that? Humor me…and know that it’s not me thinking less of you, little sister. Bad people exist.” Aelin shifted on the bench slightly, to better reach for and rub Tegan’s back. He felt her body angrily quiver under his finger tips. “If this guy is honest, he wouldn’t invite you back if he thought you were stupid. If he’s a jackass, I want to be there to help you…let me?”


	5. Opportunities in Color

His thinly veiled annoyance, the corners of his mouth drawn tightly in. Eramanthe yawned and stretched, stumbling into his office. A tired smile plastered on her face as she let gravity deliver her upon the old couch. “I hope that means that you pulled an all-nighter and got the unity piece done, Era.” The sculpture was long since due, and the gallery client knew it, “The embassy’s receptionist is breathing down my neck and I’m out of excuses to stall for you.” Too much longer and it would look poorly on the gallery’s reputation. A bad reputation and his family would call for his removal and replacement.

“Nearly there, Lau.” She mumbled, curling more tightly into a comforting ball. The cushions of the couch enveloped her curves, sucking her down as she caressed a pillow.

“Six months, Era. How much longer is it going to take?” He could feel the muscles around his shoulder blades tightening.

“I just had to refocus where I was putting my efforts. The turian hand wasn’t working with me, so I moved over to the drell. I’ve only got two more hands left.”

“The citadel is sculpted and ready for mounting?” An unhappy flick out of the corner of his eye. She nodded from the couch. He groaned and made a note of her comment. At least he’d have the artist’s words to give to the receptionist the next time she called. People usually responded better to the artist than the distributor. Not by much, but it was something. Lau looked at Eramanthe again. His eyes softened. “You and Cassias haven’t talked yet, have you?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“Not right now.” Lau waited for her to elaborate, even turning his chair to better look at her. He rested his cheekbone against his knuckles. Eramanthe groaned. “He’s on military hours right now. The hierarchy called on him to tour. We’re not talking.”

“Ah.” Lau turned his chair back towards his desk and resumed his work. He didn’t envy her. Relationships, in his limited experience, just weren’t worth the exhaustion. Looking at the clock, it was nearly time for the duct rat to arrive. He’d spoken at length to Eramanthe yesterday about it and she’d utterly missed his expressed panic at the thought of today. Now he’d be surprised if she could remember the number of her own toes. Hopefully she could catch fifteen or twenty minutes of rest before the girl arrived. Lau felt…uneasy, being left alone with the human child.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Aelin! We gotta go!”

Tegan sprang down the hall to slide to a stop in front of Vey and Aelin’s door. She’d been a ball of energy all morning, perking up before breakfast and then whizzing around the house with all the enthusiasm her small body could muster. She’d put on her least stained overalls and her most colorful shirt. She’d even bothered to tie back her mess of hair, though it still wisped and flowed behind her with a life of its own. “Sure, sure. Just let me finish here.” The door answered, the muffled sound of Aelin scratching away at his desk. Tegan shoved the door open, rattling the hinges, and charged toward Aelin with an eager glint in her eye.

She tugged impatiently at the hem of his vest, neck craned up to pout at him. His clothes often hung loosely on his body, bigger and often ill fitting. Sometimes made for a species other than his own. “Aelin, it’s time! We gotta go!” The pull towards the gallery was like getting caught in a stream of electricity, unbearable in the way it jerked at her nerves and vibrated in her mind. Intoxicating in the way it made her hands yearn for thought. Granted, she would have to clean before she got to any of the practicing that the older salarian had promised- but that was only a passing truth, forgotten when compared with a tantalizing prize.

Her brother’s eyes were clouded over by focus. His pen moved quickly across a dim holo screen. With small twitches of Aelin’s fingers, notes disappeared and gave way to diagrams-sketches of what was to be. And Tegan grew tired of him seeing the screen instead of her. “AELIN!”

“Huh?” He blinked out of his haze. “Oh, Petal. When did you get here?” he glanced briefly in her direction before looking back towards his desk, lower eyelids compressed with concentration. Her existence was brief in mind as he reached toward the holo-screen, finessing once again the designs of his meticulous mechanisms.

“You said you had to come with me to the gallery. You need to take me now. It’s **time**!”

“Already?” Aelin roughly rubbed at his eyes, the edges of his pupils fuzzy. Tegan took a step back. He must have neglected his hour of sleep last night. Aelin checked his omni-tool flicking it open and closed. His eyes focused in the present once again, Aelin’s shoulders wilted as he took a deep breath. “Where does the time go?”

He heaved himself out of his chair and away from his desk, fingers caressing the surface until it was out of reach, feet softly thumping against the floor. Solid sounds and musty wood. Seconds inched by like minutes as he moved about the room. He gathered his things and Tegan nearly vibrated through the floor. When his small bag was slung over his shoulders, _finally_ , Tegan shot out of the room! She shot down the hall!

The walls blurred and shifted at her coming. The floors dared not trip up her speeding feet today! The house knew. The house understood! With her descent, the stairs shrill voices seemingly cried out ‘Ru _n! Free!’_ The air trapped on the other side of the front door flooded the hall as Tegan nearly tore to door from it’s place. 

“Tegan wait!”

Freedom from the bones of the house and the weight of its walls against her hands. Though the air outside wasn’t fresh, it didn’t lay stagnate as it did in the house. It moved and stimulated its environment without coaxing. She ran, colors and lights blurring as small legs pushed her forward. Tayseri ward’s lower levels were a trash heap. But she’d grown here. Textures hidden from disgusted eyes popped; the sparse clattering of glass and aluminum were a symphony onto themselves. The keepers, like clicking monoliths, stood in apathetic watch; the hues of the various lights dappling their strange skin. These colors and textures; seared into her being, as much a part of her as her siblings and no less loved.

The filthy grays and rusted reds blurred passed her notice; she could only see the crispness of the gallery in her mind’s eye. A calling pulled her forward, flowing like rapids crashing and breaking any and all walls that stood before them.

Aelin caught up to her quickly enough. He always did. When Tegan had been small, she’d demand to race him and insisted he was somehow cheating when he won. Because he always won. Vey would also tease, feeding Tegan’s suspicion and joining her in the chase to make him fess up for his child-like crimes. ‘ _Can’t catch me! Can’t catch me!_ ’ he’d crow. Aelin never admitted to anything, playing as a master thief. An uproarious villain.

A gleam in her eye as she tries to match the pace of her will.

A ragged breath from his bruised lungs refusing to quit.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“She’s late.” He tapped a finger repeatedly against his arm, refusing to pace about.

“By five minutes. That’s not late, Lau. You’re not late until ten minutes.” Eramanthe stretched her arms upward, mewling a bit before relaxing against the countertop once again. “Five minutes is everyone filing in.”

“Circles. This explains so much about you.”

“You’re being too uptight, Lau my dearest. Keep this up and one day you’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

“Mm. At this point I’d welcome death.”

The anxiety was killing him. 10:05. He felt like kicking yesterday’s Lau. What did he know about humans? How are you supposed to act around them? Was there a code of conduct? Of course, she was just a duct rat. Her family was probably on the poorer end. Possibly smugglers? That would explain the theft- _that you have forgiven_ -and a lack of supervision. Talent was anywhere and everywhere, Dalatrass Illicei had said over and over again. What if humans had weird annoying quirks? Like the elcor. He groaned. Maybe he was focusing too much on the species thing. Eramanthe spoke true-Tegan looks like an average little girl. This just felt so out of his control.

Step back.

Take a breath.

In.

Out.

Let the buzzing leave your head. This isn’t going to be as terrible as you’re making it seem.

In.

Out.

Good.

“She’s here!” Eramanthe squealed, hopping off of her countertop and nearly giving Lau that heart attack she’d predicted moments earlier. With the tinkling of the bell above the door, Lau collected himself only to be taken off guard immediately. There was the girl. Aggressive tie-dyed shirt and manic grin. But alongside her stood a lanky young salarian, red as a dying sun with accents of creamed white. Baggy clothes. Slight scratch-like scars patterning his face and hands. The young or’ha’s face contracted almost invisibly, his facial muscles briefly tensed as Eramanthe shook Tegan’s hand and introduced herself. Only a salarian could notice these micro actions. Lau stood back for a moment, studying with an artist’s eye. An amalgamation of movements and postures so unsalarian like, mixed with inherit salarian facial ques. Odd.

“Mr. Ropon, this is my older brother Aelin! Aelin, meet Mr. Ropon. He’s gonna teach me art stuff!” The girl chattered and she cast the boy’s attention finally toward Lau. Well, he had no choice now. If he didn’t close the distance, he’d look suspicious.

Smiling, Lau reached his hand out to greet the two. “Good to meet you, Aelin. I am Ropon Lau. I believe you’ve been introduced to my good friend, Eramanthe D’Kyci.” She waved excitedly from behind.

“Yeah. Nice meeting you, too.” Aelin returned the handshake, quickly eyeing Eramanthe. Ah youth.

“Aelin wanted to come today to make sure you wouldn’t kidnap or murder-“a hand popped over her mouth. Aelin looked down at her, wide eyed.

“Sorry. She’s always had a habit of _over sharing_.” The little girl wilted slightly as her salarian brother sighed and began rubbing her head. “We’re working on that.”

“Oh…kay then.” Eramanthe clasped her hands together, smiling still in her diplomatic way. She and Lau shared a glance, desperate to shrug at each other but not wanting to appear rude. Quite a serious young man, this Aelin. “Why don’t I take little miss into the back, get a little cleaning done; then you two can come on back when we’re getting all artsy/craftsy!” In saying so, Eramanthe put her hand on Tegan’s back and glided into the work room, smiling and waving behind her the entire time. Aelin tried to object, reaching out his hand for Tegan’s shoulder before the door closed behind both girls.

He had yet to learn that Era always got what she wanted. Lau almost wanted to pat the boy on the shoulder in sympathy…but not enough to actually do so.

And so the men stood.

Awkwardly.

In the quiet.

Damn that woman.

The two stood together in discomfort for a minute or two, the younger staring past the older and towards the door. The miniscule muscles underneath Aelin’s skin shifted, writhing. Anxious. Fearful. Lau bounced on his toes, his arms crossed.

This was fine.

“So,” Lau coughed, trying out a smile. “Aelin. Is that your family name or your given name?”

“Mine.”

“Ah.” Lau inwardly groaned. How illuminating. “It’s nice.”

“My sister’s idea.”

Sister. Tegan? Someone different? Family. No family name. But, that was ludicrous. Red’s were always claimed by one clan or another. His own family had been trying to breed red into the bloodline for a generation or two now. How was _this or’ha_ yet another duct rat, though grown out of the name?

…hm. Lau’s brows perked slightly. An idea sharpened by opportunity. A red with no family name. Such an acquisition would look favorably on Lau. Possibly even as a gift to the new Dalatrass? New blood. No name. New aesthetic. No competition. Perhaps meeting the duct rat at the museum was more fortuitous than he’d originally thought.

Lau tried again, warmer now. His relaxed shoulders a lie unable to be seen. “How long have you known Tegan?”

“Eight-Nine years?”

“I never did get the chance to ask how old she was the other day, while we were speaking?”

“Dunno.”

“What?” Lau started, looking incredulously at the young or’ha. Clan-less because of density? He didn’t hold himself as a fool would.

Aelin shrugged, taking a side step away from Lau. “She wasn’t old enough to know how old she was. No one claimed her. We took her home.”

Ah. A charitable deed. “That must have been difficult for you. Being so young and having to raise such a new species to the galactic community. Not too much is known to us about human children.”

Aelin laughed, a delicate thing that burbled out from his shoulders. “Nah. She’s pretty similar to turian kids. Only less pointy and with more fingers. Squishier. Though, there was this time maybe a year and a half back where Petal ate a turian snack and we had to take her to the hospital. Ha! She got so red and puffy. We thought she was dying. She hasn’t made that mistake again.”

That crack of warmth. Lau smiled.

“Petal. Interesting nickname. Where did-”

“Is she okay back there? It’s quiet.” Aelin stared at the back door once again, cranial muscles twitching. It had only been a handful of minutes since the girls had disappeared from sight. It wasn’t as if cleaning was an inherently loud task. But if Aelin wouldn’t relax without the girl in sight, there was no helping it. Lau began walking and gestured for Aelin to follow.

There the girls were, removing clay and stone dust from table surfaces. Dutifully taking to their task as no less expected of them. Aelin seemed to relax. He stationed himself in an abandoned corner, observing as his charge moved from tables to chairs to floors. Cleaning. Eagerly waiting. If Lau was going to make a good first impression on this red, he would have to act within Aelin’s interests. He looked at the girls, clapping his hands once for their attention. Tegan’s eyes flash towards him. His soul stricken. That haunting blue. He shakes it off. He pushes forward with a confident smile. “Why don’t we get straight into things today. Skip the cleaning?”

“REALLY?” Tegan crowed.

“Who are you and what did you do with Lau?” Eramanthe crossed her arms.

“Don’t misunderstand me. Tegan, you will be holding up your end of our bargain as you keep coming back. But, seeing as today is the first lesson, I can excuse putting recreation before work this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up re writing this mess three times and I'm STILL not completely happy with it. Ah well. At least I can move on from it now. Sorry the ending is so abrupt. Hopefully next chapter will be better put together.
> 
> Or'ha- salarian word for a male of their species.


End file.
